


Massages And Overalls

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: Take my hand--Take My Whole life too [59]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Massage, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:12:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4095289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mickey's back had been playing up, killing him throughout the day, making him moan about it every single second he could. Ian should probably take care of it."</p><p>Anon asked : I would like to request a light fluffy Gallavich fic with one of the guys coming in from work tired and their partner gives them an impromptu massage. Somewhere in there I want them to say "well,I've gotta take care of my man." Lol.. This fic idea won't let me go help</p>
            </blockquote>





	Massages And Overalls

**Author's Note:**

> HOPE YOU LIKE IT????

Ian feels his sleep pull away the second he hears the front-door slamming. His eyes flutter open as he wipes his nose against his pillow tiredly. Instantly, he knows it's Mickey; that gruff grunt only belongs to one person. He follows Mickey's footsteps, turning onto his back in his wrapped up burrito of a quilt. He listens out carefully; Mickey's movements go from the living area to the kitchen, tap on, tap off, fridge open, closed. Ian's face splits into a grin when he hears the pop of the beer-bottle cap. Mickey was such a dork.

The door creaks open, a small light shedding through the gap. Mickey steps through, placing his beer against the dresser, and Ian shuts his eyes immediately, peeping through the slits, hearing Mickey peer over to check if he was sleeping. In a huff, Mickey pulls off his black-tank over his head, leaving just his overalls wrapped up to around his waist, his oily chest glimmering in the small light emitted through the blinds.

Ian can't help but smirk, tapping his fingers idly. It wasn't rocket science to work out that he really fucking loved Mickey in his work uniform. There was something about the grungy, dirty feel to it that Ian couldn't stop his dick twitching in his pants. Ever since Mickey took the job at the garage Ian didn't dare look away when he stripped from his shirts, leaving just the oily, blue overalls on against his legs. _Fuck, those legs._

Mickey sits himself at the bottom of the bed, wincing a little with the bounce of the springs against his back. He hisses, rubbing a hand against his spine as he leaned down to untie his boots. Ian watches carefully, slowly leaning up against his elbows. Mickey doesn't notice. 

Two days prior, Ian had accidentally slammed Mickey's back against the kitchen counter whilst trying to fuck him ruthlessly in the kitchen. After that, Mickey's back had been playing up, killing him throughout the day, making him moan about it every single second he could. Ian should probably take care of it.

“Fuck.” Mickey mutters to himself, chucking his boots into the corner of dirty laundry. Ian sighs guiltily, sitting up against the bed. He shuffles along the mattress, peeling the blanket off of himself. He pulls himself behind Mickey, hooking his legs around his sides. 

“Jesus.” Mickey jolts, not expecting Ian to be so close behind him. He peers over his shoulder, eyes tired, hissing through his teeth as his muscles in his back cramped. “Don't sneak up on me like that, man.” 

Ian rests his chin against his back, wrapping his hands around Mickey's waist. In chuckle, he breathes in the musky scent of oil mixed with cheap cigarettes. “What, did I scare big-bad-thug Milkovich, huh?” 

Mickey sends his elbow back, hitting Ian in the side as he peeled off his socks. “Fuck off.” When he leans down his back cracks in three different places, cramping more. The pain wasn't  _that_ bad but it was really fucking irritating, and he knew he wouldn't sleep with a cramped up shoulder. 

Ian notices, leaning back a little as Mickey's back tensed under cramp. It was clear he was in pain, and by the sound of his groaning, it wasn't a good thing. He shifts before pressing his hands into Mickey's back, adding pressure with his fingers against the tense muscles. “Here, let me.” 

“What the hell are you doing?” Mickey tried to protest but his body was too tired to wriggle out of it. He leans forward a little, trying to stand up to pull off his pants, but Ian's hands felt so fucking _good_ against his back. 

Ian doesn't budge his hands, rubbing them into Mickey's shoulders roughly, pushing into the tension that built within his muscles. Mickey groans out, dropping his head a little, as Ian pressed his fingers down towards the bumps of his spine. As he does it, he whirls his head around Mickey's shoulder, grinning that sleepy smile. “Well, I've gotta take care of my man.”

“ _Shit.”_ Mickey utters, breathing out as Ian found the cramped area. His muscles contracted and tensed at each rub, letting Ian's fingers push themselves against them. It did feel pretty fucking good, and relaxing for the first time in days, but it was still pretty domestic of them. He tries to wriggle as Ian's hands force themselves against his spine. “I can take care of myself, you know.” 

“Yeah, I know that.” Ian scoffs, tongue stuck out in concentration as his hands work the massage into Mickey's back. He feels the hard muscle slowly deflating, Mickey's body relaxing under his touch and he smirks to himself. “ _But_ I need you in shape for when I fuck you into the mattress later.”

Mickey trails his finger back and forth against Ian's calf, hissing and grunting each time the cramp sharpened under his skin. Ian's hands were definitely working their magic – then again, when didn't they do that tingly, hands made of gold,  _so fucking good_ thing. He snorts, he turns his head, nearly getting a mouthful of red hair. “Is that so?” 

“Yep.” Ian nods, lifting his head up with a devious, taunting grin. His hands reach up again, working into his broad, slightly dropped, shoulders. “I can't have you busting a hip, can I?” 

Ian yelps as Mickey pinches at his calf. The brunette giggles to himself before his jaw goes slack with the sensation of Ian's fingers rubbing against his shoulder blade. Gritting his teeth, he nearly punches himself for sounding so lost in Ian's hands. “Shut the fuck up. It's your fault.” 

Ian swats his back, shoving him a little, before carrying on with a pout. “ _Please,_ you were the one who wanted to fuck in the kitchen, not me.” 

“You were the one who fucking dropped me.” Mickey snaps back, defensively. 

“Hey! That was an accident, you dick.” Ian presses his fingers in harder, knocking his head against Mickey's back in retaliation of Mickey's burst of laughter. He loved that sound but it wasn't funny when he knew that Mickey was right. He clears his throat, presses a soft kiss against the joint of Mickey's shoulder. “I can make it up to you, though.” 

Mickey's hand stops against his leg, he leans his head back, breathing in deeply. His back presses back towards Ian's fingers. Eye closed, he groans. “After this. Just – just do this first.” 

Ian pounders for a second;  _was he really getting blown off for a massage?_ He stops his lips, and lets his hands roam Mickey's back, a scowl evident against his face. Mickey doesn't move, though, he just sits, leaning back into Ian's touch, eyes closed and mouth apart as he gasped at each rub of Ian's fingers. Ian twirls his head around his shoulder again, “Are you serious?” 

Mickey peeps his eye open. “What?” 

“Thought you could take care of yourself, huh?” Ian raises his brow, he isn't entirely sure if Mickey could see it through the dark, but he knew he could feel it. His hands dig into Mickey's shoulder blade, causing him to hiss out in a grunt. Ian giggles, humming to himself victoriously. 

_Fucker._ Mickey thinks to himself. Ian was giving him them eyes –  _the_ eyes that he did everytime he wanted his own way. Despite the luring process of Ian's twinkling eyes, he scoffs to himself, swatting Ian's thigh lightly. “You said so yourself, Gallagher, you need me in shape for that big-ass dick of yours.”

Ian pinches his shoulder. “Not in those words.” 

Mickey laughs out loudly, genuinely – something rare but beautiful. He leans back again, nudging his shoulder against Ian's chin to get him moving again. “ _Come_ on.” As usual, Ian complies happly, keeping his insults buried deep because he couldn't say no to that grumpy face. 

“You owe me for this.” Ian mutters to himself, earning a scoff from his moaning boyfriend. It wasn't exactly enjoyable to know a massage could make Mickey moan as loud as his dick. It was even worse that Ian was contemplating to rival against his own hands. _Fucking hands._

As Ian's fingers rub deep into the tense muscle, running over the oiled toned skin, Mickey groans out, grunting and hissing each time it hit the right place. His head is lolled forward, fingers gripping to the skin of Ian's leg each time the cramp was located. Breathlessly, he calls out, “ _Fuck,_ yes, Ian. Right there. Yeah. There.” 

If anyone happened to be listening through the door it would sound like Ian was pounding Mickey's ass pretty fucking well. But  _no,_ at this point Ian was starting to believe Mickey was falling for his hands other-than his other assets. “Jesus Christ.” He huffs. 

He should of just pounced on Mickey the second he walked in with those scruffy overalls. 

Mickey lifts his head, smirking. He turns his head to the side and kisses Ian deeply, hand at the back of Ian's neck. When he pulls away, he pushes back so Ian's fingers start running again. Ian's eyes grow wide, in a rush, a little struck back but in awe. 

He sends Mickey a questioning look, but Mickey's already talking. “Your hands are good for something else, who would of thought it?” 

Ian's face cracks into a smile, he smacks Mickey's back before jumping off the bed and straddling his hips.  _Things never change._


End file.
